


Sweet Dreams are Made of This

by MorganOfTheFey



Series: OTP: Coat-Coat, Murder [7]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: BDSM, Feeding Kink, Fluff, Other, Praise Kink, Warning for drug use, Wish Fulfillment, a little bit of angst, agender!sole survivor, bottom!Hancock, care taking, hancock ~really~ likes giving blowjobs, oral kink, they/them pronouns used to refer to my SS, this is Hancock after all, top!Sole Survivor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 19:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5552621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganOfTheFey/pseuds/MorganOfTheFey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hancock has a dirty dream about those impure thoughts he's been having. See tags for the list of kinks!</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Thinking about it influenced the dream world, and Scout's free hand dropped to their crotch, adjusting themself in the tight vault suit. Hancock watched the action greedily, hungry for something more than just soup. Scout grinned at his blatant want.</p>
<p>“Something you'd rather have in your mouth?” they asked.</p>
<p>“Your nipples, your dick, that inhaler of Jet …” Hancock drawled. “But I'm not picky.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Dreams are Made of This

**Author's Note:**

> Kinks for this one include: praise, feeding, oral, giving blowjobs, care taking, and maybe also asphyxiation. Warnings include: drug use, the use of the word slut (but not in a mean way), and maybe also asphyxiation. Super heavy BDSM throughout, and Hancock is a needy bottom.

Hancock knew it was a dream because Scout never wore their wedding ring in his dreams. In his own little dream world, that pesky band of gold was always missing, the same as how it was always conspicuous in the real world. But for now, everything was fuzzy and warm. He was on his knees and had his hands clasped behind his back because Scout trusted him enough not to bind his wrists. Scout trusted that he could be good. A good boy.

“Open.”

Scout's voice was gentle, but in a way that didn't allow for arguing. Hancock loved listening to their voice. It was sweet and lower than most people expected. He obeyed the order, opening his mouth and waiting for whatever would come next. Scout smiled and fed him something with a spoon, and the dream clicked into place. Scout was sitting in a chair and Hancock was kneeling between their legs, being fed and told nice things. If he stayed calm and didn't let his own angst turn this into something nasty, and if he didn't get woken up, the dream would get even better.

Thinking about it influenced the dream world, and Scout's free hand dropped to their crotch, adjusting themself in the tight vault suit. Hancock watched the action greedily, hungry for something more than just soup. Scout grinned at his blatant want.

“Something you'd rather have in your mouth?” they asked.

“Your nipples, your dick, that inhaler of Jet …” Hancock drawled. “But I'm not picky.”

“You also haven't been very good lately,” Scout said.

Hancock tensed up, but they moved their free hand from their crotch to his head, smoothing over the scarred skin and little tufts of hair. Hancock relaxed into the petting and leaned into Scout's touch. This wasn't going to be a bad dream then.

“If you want something other than soup, you'll have to earn it,” Scout told him.

“Don't have to earn the soup?” Hancock asked in a mumble, still enjoying the petting.

“Of course not.” Scout's hand smoothed all the way down his head and squeezed the back of his neck gently. “You deserve to eat like everyone else. You don't have to earn being treated like a person.”

Hancock relaxed even more, leaning forward to rest his cheek against Scout's thigh. Yeah, this was going to be a good dream. One of the mushy ones, where Scout told him all the nice things he wanted to hear and let him suck their dick real slow. Everyone in the real world had better fuck off and let him sleep. It wasn't often he got to have good dreams like this.

“Open.”

Hancock opened his mouth and lifted his head just enough to accept the next spoonful of soup. Scout's hand firmly guided his head back to their thigh after he swallowed the bite, and he gave a happy sigh, nuzzling into the soft fabric of the vault suit. Being put on his knees like this gave him a high almost as good as Jet. Hell, if this were the real thing and the real Scout, it'd probably be as good, maybe even better.

“I'm going to feed you five more bites of soup,” Scout said. “Then you're going to pull this zipper down with your teeth and start working on earning my cock in the back of your throat.”

Hancock swallowed back a groan and dug his nails tighter into his wrist. “Yeah.”

“Open.”

Hancock offered up his mouth for the spoon again, the knowledge that soon Scout would give that same order and his mouth would be _used_ for something more making even the cool metal of the spoon against his tongue send heat blooming through his chest.

“You want to be good for me, don't you John?”

If Hancock still had his old skin, he would have blushed at how gentle Scout's voice was, almost a coo. Instead, he dropped his head back down to their thigh and nodded against the leg. Fuck, but he wanted to be good. It was hard being good in the real world, never knowing if he was going soft or turning into a tyrant, all of his efforts like tossing pebbles into a chasm. But this was easy. All he had to do to be good right now was keep his hands behind his back and open his mouth when Scout told him to.

“Open.”

Hancock did, and just like that, he was good. So easy.

“I'll let you start with my nipples, because you mentioned that, and you're doing well with eating your soup,” Scout said.

Hancock hummed against their thigh. The top surgery had been money well spent, in his humble opinion. Scout certainly seemed happy with the results, if the pretty, low-cut dresses they always wore were any indication.

“Open.”

Hancock let himself be fed another bite, the easy familiarity of it sending him deeper into a warm, quiet headspace. Not quite a high, like a hit of Jet or a dick in his mouth, but still soft and fuzzy. Like Mentats, he decided.

“I like it when you rub your cheek against one and then lick it with your tongue.” Scout gave a fond sigh. “Rough and then soft.”

“Anything else I get to lick?” Hancock asked.

Scout gently bopped his forehead with the spoon. “Now you're getting ahead of yourself.”

Hancock gave them his best penitent look, which, despite being on his knees, didn't look all that repentant. “Sorry.”

“Mmm.”

Scout took a tighter grip on the back of his neck, squeezing with just enough force to remind him he wasn't a mayor right now. He was on his knees, not in charge of anything, supposed to be acting good. Hancock knew it was the same grip Scout would use with their cock in his throat, when they were too close to coming to care about dragging it out, when they just wanted to hold his head still and fuck his face. He held out for a long moment before he couldn't keep in a low whimper. He hadn't realized how hard being fed while on his knees had made him until just now, and he had to clench his teeth together to keep from opening his mouth—silently begging for Scout to put something, anything, in there—before he was ordered to.

“Are you going to be good and listen to the rest of your orders?” Scout asked.

“Yes,” Hancock gasped.

“All right …” Scout paused, letting the anticipation thrum through the ghoul kneeling at their feet. “Open.”

Hancock's mouth dropped open with another desperate sound, and Scout pushed the spoon in a littler farther than what what comfortable for eating, pressing the metal down against his tongue. Their other hand moved from the back of his neck up to his head, tilted his face back so the soup spilled out of the spoon inside his mouth and down his throat. Hancock's hips bucked and he let out a strangled groan as he was forced to swallow the soup unexpectedly like that, the tip of the spoon almost-not-quite triggering his gag reflex. That's how it would be when Scout finally let him blow them—taking it and swallowing entirely on Scout's command.

Scout took the spoon back and released their hold on Hancock's head to let him drop his forehead back down to their thigh. Hancock panted for a moment, needing the time to get his breath back and his shit together.

“This is why you need to behave,” Scout said. “You only make it harder on yourself when you act up, John.”

Hancock nodded, still trembling a little and nails sunk deep enough into his wrists to leave bloody crescents.

“Once you get my zipper down,” Scout continued with their explanation of what would happen next, “I'll let you lick me through my panties. If you show me you want it bad enough—that you can make it good for me—you can have the real thing.”

“Can be good,” Hancock promised in a voice raspier than usual.

Scout smoothed their hand over his head again. “I know you can, honey. And if you're really good, you can earn yourself some Jet too.”

Hancock's eyes darted up to the plastic container sitting beside the bowl of soup on the little nightstand next to Scout's chair, but he only looked for a second before turning his attention back to the person sitting in front of him. The Jet was admittedly a bonus, but he'd be here and just as eager for the scene even without the promise of the chem. And if he was really hurting for it, he knew Scout would help him out instead of playing this game.

“Now, you still have one more bite, so,” Scout filled the spoon with soup and held it in front of Hancock's face. “Open.”

Hancock ate the last bite of soup, half-hoping that Scout would give it to him the same as the last bite and half-hoping they'd give it to him quick so the two could get onto the main event. Maybe Scout wanted it as bad as he did, despite their cool composure, because the second half of him got his wish.

Scout flicked the zipper of their vault suit, already pulled down enough to show some cleavage. “Up.”

Hancock raised up from sitting back on his heels to leaning up as far as he could while still remaining on his knees. Scout didn't scoot forward to make it any easier for him, and he had to shuffle forward on his knees until his hips pressed against the edge of the chair, which had the added benefit of finally putting some much needed pressure on the erection trapped in his trousers. Hancock resisted the urge to rut against the chair though and focused on keeping his balance while he leaned forward to grab Scout's zipper between his teeth. He pulled the zipper down to just above their belly button, then raised his head back up to nudge aside the suit cover their right breast. His eyes flicked up to Scout's.

“Go on,” they encouraged.

He pressed into the chair as much as he could and bent forward to sloppily take Scout's nipple into his mouth. They let out a small sigh, and one of their hands returned to cup the back of his head. It felt good to have Scout's hand there, holding his face to their chest, grounding him. He gave a brief suck, glad to have something in his mouth, then pulled back and rubbed his cheek against the hardened nub the way Scout said they liked. At least his ruined skin was good for something. They hummed and pressed their fingers harder into his scalp, rubbing soothing patterns as he lapped gently at their nipple before taking it back into his mouth again.

“Such a good boy, John.”

Hancock made a muffled noise of pleasure, and Scout's hand nudged his head back.

“Other one,” they said.

He quickly obliged, using his chin to push the suit away from covering up their other nipple, which he gave the same treatment. He couldn't stop himself from rocking slightly into the edge of the chair by now, but he hoped the movement was small enough that Scout wouldn't notice. It just felt so damn good to be put to _use_ , to be able to kiss and lick at his friend's pretty nipples.

“You ready for more?” Scout asked with a slight chuckle, bumping their leg into the side of his hip to let him know his rutting had not, in fact, gone unnoticed.

Hancock pulled off their nipple and rasped out a “yeah.”

“I'll give you a minute to calm down while I get out of this suit,” Scout told him.

They gently pushed him back enough for them to stand up and move a few steps away. Hancock held back a whine at the loss of contact. To be fair, he did get a good show of Scout stripping off the suit, leaving them in nothing but their Pip Boy and panties. Hancock stared at their left hand as they held it out and used their right to undo the clasps of their Pip Boy. There was something important about their left hand.

The ring. Scout never wore their wedding ring in his dreams. Hancock dropped his gaze to the floorboards, then forced himself to look back at their left hand, both hoping the ring wouldn't be there—he hated the sight of it—and that it would be so this would be real.

It wasn't.

But Scout set the Pip Boy on the nightstand and turned back to him with a smile, and he could at least pretend, let the dream suck him back in again. No point in waking up to an empty bed.

“Come here,” Scout ordered.

Hancock shuffled forward and tried to forget that it was just a dream. Scout rested the side of their hip against the nightstand and reached out to set their hand on top of his head again. Up this close, he could clearly see the shape of their cock inside the silk panties and the growing wet spot at the tip.

“You know how to be good,” Scout said, their voice soft, almost encouraging.

Hancock nodded. He knew what to do, had been wanted to do this for ages. First, he leaned forward and took a moment just to breathe in the scent of Scout—musky arousal mixed with the smell of soap. Scout was always so _clean_. They made an effort to bathe everyday, which would seem ridiculous if Hancock didn't know that's how often people did before the war. He certainly appreciated the effort, but he wasn't quite patient enough to linger for long. The silk was smooth beneath his tongue when he pressed it into the panties right over the base of Scout's cock, giving the fabric slow, concentrated licks until the wet silk clung to the hard length beneath it.

“You're so good for me, John,” Scout murmured.

Fuck. Hancock never knew he had a praise kink, because he'd never met anyone as free with their approval as Scout. He was trying to take this slow—trying so hard—but the sound of Scout's voice washed down his spine like liquid heat, and he couldn't resist licking up to the tip of their cock anymore. The panties were already slick with precum there, and Hancock greedily lapped at the wet spot for a taste.

“You want it so bad, don't you, honey?”

Honey. It was such a domestic-sounding nickname, the sort used before the war when people still bothered to get married and houses still had white picket fences. Hancock wasn't Scout's “honey.” That man was dead and buried, but yes, he wanted. He fucking _wanted_. The need made him whine and press his face even closer, all concentration forgotten as his licks turned desperate and sloppy.

“All those nasty thoughts about yourself will go away when I fuck your face.” Both of Scout's hands framed his face to keep his head still while they gave light thrusts against his tongue. “You don't need to think to be used.”

Hancock groaned, tongue out and on his knees, letting Scout take whatever they wanted from him. He could feel himself slipping down to that blissful quiet place in his mind that usually only a long hit of Jet could get him to. And if he was really good, he could have that too.

“All right.” Scout pulled back and exhaled hard. “God, you could make me come just like that.”

Hancock took in a shaky breath and then grinned up at his friend. “That's why they call me the zombie _king_.”

Scout raised an eyebrow. “How about you crawl your royal ass on over to the chair, your majesty.”

“I'd rather be his _high_ -ness.” If Hancock still had eyebrows of his own, he would have waggled them at the not-so-subtle hint.

“Oh yeah, you're definitely getting dicked in the mouth for that.” Scout gently shoved his head away. “Go on.”

Hancock unclapsed his hands from their bruising grip on his wrists and dropped down onto his hands and knees. His arms tingled from the new rush of blood and sudden movement as he began crawling back to the chair, per Scout's instruction. It felt good to move his arms after keeping them locked in place, and the heat of Scout's gaze on his ass felt even better. He glanced over his shoulder to check that he wasn't imagining that part and saw Scout with their panties dropped down around their ankles and one hand slowly stroking their cock. His breath caught at the sight. Hancock knew he was charming, would maybe go so far as to say he was a certain kind of attractive, but when was the last time he actually felt _desirable_?

Scout whistled to get his attention. “Hey, you're supposed to be giving a show, not getting one.”

Hancock shuddered. Desirable. He started crawling again, making sure to put an extra swing in his hips. A low noise of approval sounded from behind him, and he kept his back arched even when he stopped in front of the chair.

“Mmm, now I kind of what to keep you like that,” Scout said. “Push your head down to the floor and fuck you 'til you get carpet burns on your face. Think you can still get those through your skin?”

“Would like to try,” Hancock rasped back.

“Hah.” Scout's footsteps padded closer. “I bet you would.”

They settled into the chair and reached down to grab him by the chin. He put his arms back behind his back and clasped his hands around his wrists again. Their thumb pressed against his thin, rough lips, and he opened his mouth for them to stroke his tongue.

“But your fucking mouth,” Scout muttered, almost to themself. “C'mere.”

They pulled his head closer to their lap, but Hancock didn't need the encouragement. As soon as their thumb slipped out of his mouth, he set to work eagerly licking up the length of their cock. They let their head drop against the back of the chair with a soft groan, and Hancock swirled his tongue around the tip, drawing out a grunt too. His own cock ached, trapped in his trousers, but he didn't care. That wasn't the point of this. 

Scout shifted in the chair and spread their legs further apart to give him better access, and Hancock took a moment to lean down and nuzzle into the soft inside of their thigh. They had hard muscle beneath the initial softness, but the Commonwealth hadn't yet succeeded in whittling off all of their pre-war fat either, which Hancock was very grateful for. Too many people looked too hungry and scrawny.

But as amazing as Scout's thighs were, they could only hold Hancock's attention for so long before he returned to their cock. Another drop of precum had welled up in his absence, dripping down their shaft, the sight of it making him press his hips hard into the edge of the chair again. He licked Scout from root to tip, gathering up the drop as he went, and then laved little kitten licks to the head until Scout pushed him away. He started to make a noise of protest, but then he saw them pick up the inhaler off the nightstand. Scout held it out to him, and he quickly closed his lips over the mouthpiece.

“Take a big hit, honey,” Scout told him. “I want your throat nice and relaxed for this.”

Hancock would have whined at that if he hadn't been so busy inhaling. Instead, he rutted harder into the edge of the chair, the chem drawing out the muted pleasure. He held in the smoke after Scout took the inhaler away, feeling it burn in his lungs, warming him from the inside out.

“Exhale,” Scout said, their hand wrapped around his throat, thumb brushing over his pulse point.

He tipped his head back and blew out the smoke, simultaneously baring his throat. Scout's grip tightened for a moment before moving around to cup the back of his head and suddenly push his face down into their lap. Hancock went with it, opening his mouth and swallowing down their cock in one go. The Jet helped ease him through his gag reflex until the natural reaction dissipated entirely. His whole body felt relaxed and warm, even with his face pressed right up against Scout's groin, no nose to get in the way.

“Nngh, John.”

Hancock smirked as much as he could around the cock in his mouth. Rad resistance, near immortality, superior dick sucking skills … being a ghoul had its perks. He pulled back a bit, Scout's hand now limp on the back of his head. This was the fun part, where he got to suck Scout's dick how he wanted, at least for now. Hancock bobbed his head down again, and then pulled back slowly, dragging his tongue along the underside of the shaft. He'd always liked the weight of a dick in his mouth, the way it made his jaw ache, but this particular experience was amplified by the fact that this was his Sole.

“Love when you do this,” Scout said. “You're so good for me.”

Hancock didn't bother holding back his moan at the praise, knowing how much Scout liked the vibrations. Their hand flexed, then began rubbing his head, almost like a massage. Hancock let himself sink back down with a muffled sigh of pleasure, keeping Scout's cock buried down his throat as he rubbed his tongue up against it. Scout's smooth, warm skin was all around him, hand on his head, thighs beside his cheeks, soft belly pressing into his forehead. He had the brief thought that a face like his shouldn't be touching so much beautiful skin, but then it melted away just like Scout said it would when they raised their hips and gave a shallow thrust into his mouth with a satisfied groan. His face was touching Scout's skin, and he had ample evidence filling his mouth as proof of how much Scout enjoyed it.

Desirable, fuck, he was _desirable_.

“Getting a little worked up there, honey?” Scout asked in that low tone he loved.

They drew his head back, and Hancock whined in the back of his throat. Scout grinned down at him, only the tip of their cock still in his mouth.

“You're so pretty when you beg.”

Pretty. The word slammed into him almost harder than Scout's cock slammed into the back of his throat when they pushed his head back down. He groaned around the thick length, rutting against the edge of the chair in earnest. Fuck yeah, this was how he liked to be used. Scout pulled him back again, but their cock slipped out of his mouth entirely. As much as he appreciated the show of it smacking up against their stomach, hard and slick with his saliva, he really was not a fan of this new turn of events.

“Got something else for your mouth,” Scout murmured to him.

They pushed the mouthpiece of the Jet inhaler into his mouth, and that wasn't quite as good as their cock, but it was close. Gave him something to suck on at least when he inhaled. Then the Jet was taken away and Scout's gorgeous cock filled his view before they forced it back down his throat. He groaned openly around it and hollowed out his cheeks to suck hard, chems and arousal burning through him like fire, like radiation, like the end of the world. Scout said something to him, more encouragement, pretty-good-desirable, but the actual words got lost somehow. His own cock throbbed, and he felt his eyes roll up when Scout began shallowly thrusting into his mouth.

Then they pulled him off once more. Hancock gasped for air, expecting to get another hit of Jet, but instead Scout slammed their cock right back into his mouth, finally fucking his face for real. Their groans were loud and insistent now, and Hancock echoed the sounds as much as he could with his mouth stuffed full. The next time Scout yanked his head back, he did end up getting the Jet again, then back onto their cock for two hard thrusts down his throat, before receiving another hit. The chem and face fucking blurred into each other until all Hancock could do was hold his jaw open and accept whatever it was Scout wanted to shove into his mouth next. Either option was good with him.

Until all at once he was left empty, sucking in nothing but air. Hancock cracked an eye open and let out a moan that sounded pitiful even to him. Scout's own eyes were half-lidded, and they licked their lips as they stared down at him.

“You begging for my cock or for the Jet this time?” they asked.

Hancock tried to croak out a reply, but indecision caught him halfway.

Scout's voice dropped down to a coo. “You don't even know, do you, honey?”

“Please,” Hancock rasped, the best he could come up with.

Scout's expression shifted from amused arousal to fully earnest. “Of course. Like hearing you beg, but I'll always give you what you need. I take care of you.”

Hancock's whole body shuddered in response, and his mouth dropped open despite the ache in his jaw. Scout guided him back down more gently, but their hand stayed firm on the back of his neck until he'd swallowed down their whole cock. _Back where he belonged_. Hancock couldn't tell if he thought that or if Scout had said it, but it made him whimper again just the same.

“Go on, honey,” Scout said. “I know you want to come.”

Hancock couldn't breathe, but oxygen wasn't that necessary anyway. He pressed further down, shoving his face against Scout's groin to get their cock that half-inch deeper into his throat.

“This is enough to make you come, isn't it? All you need is my cock in your mouth, and you're coming on your knees like a needy little slut.”

Hancock finally broke his grip on his wrists and grabbed Scout's thighs instead, needing something to hold onto, to anchor him against the pleasure that felt like was burning him away.

“That's it. So pretty when you come for me like this.”

Honey-needy-pretty. Hancock took as much of Scout's cock as he could, moaning and choking around the thick shaft in his mouth as he came. Everything blurred together into heat and pleasure, but the dream didn't yet. This wasn't about him. Hancock still needed Scout to come, needed to _make_ Scout come, to be good, to be wanted and desirable and—

“Monsieur Hancock? Monsieur?”

Hancock gasped awake, still able to feel Scout's cock in the back of his throat for a brief moment before reality dragged that last bit of goodness away from him. He swallowed hard, scowling at the sunlight on the wall. Sanctuary then, not Goodneighbor. He had all the windows in his crash room at the Old State House boarded up.

“Are you all right?”

Hancock bit back a groan—and not the fun kind—as he recognized Curie's voice.

“My sensors indicate you have an elevated heart rate, and your temperature is higher than usual, even for a—”

“I'm fine,” Hancock said, his voice roughened to a growl from sleep.

“I sent an alert to Scout that—”

He sat bolt upright and turned to the robot. “You did _what_?!”

An eyestalk wavered almost nervously. “Scout has the most calming affect on you, except when they smile and your heart rate—”

“I know what my heart rate does,” Hancock snapped. “Send another message that I'm fine.”

“The current location of Scout's Pip Boy indicates—”

“Hancock?”

Said ghoul fell back onto his bed with another frustrated groan. Maybe if he prayed real hard, Danse would burst in and shoot him in the face for daring to have impure thoughts about a smoothskin. Yeah, that would be nice. A little bit of death solved most problems.

“Curie, I told you not to come into other people's houses without permission.”

“But it's almost two, and in the afternoon! Monsieur Hancock has not risen, and I worried that he might be ill.”

Or maybe if he laid absolutely still and didn't move, he could turn invisible and then die. Hancock concentrated on doing that as he listened to Scout chastise the well-meaning robot at the threshold of his bedroom.

“Hancock just hates the sun. He's fine. Why don't you go ask Danse about his prostate health?”

Despite his untimely awakening and consequently shitty mood, Hancock couldn't help but snort at that. He might be willing to get up to listen to that conversation.

“Oui, of course.”

Hancock heard the faint whirring noise fading, which meant Curie had hovered off to go do as Scout asked. And that left only Scout, himself, and the sticky mess between his legs, which he hoped might not be that noticeable beneath the tangle of blankets. Fuck, he was still at least half hard too.

“So … good morning,” Scout said, a little wryly.

Hancock opened his eyes again and looked over to see his friend leaning against the doorway. Their eyes swept him up and down. He'd started sleeping in a shirt and his trousers since he got to Sanctuary, even though he far preferred sleeping naked, specifically in case he was woken up in the middle of the night for some emergency. Even with the comparatively abundant amount of clothes, he still felt a bit naked without his usual ensemble. At least most of his skin was covered up.

“You need a moment?” Scout asked.

So his morning greeting tenting up the blankets hadn't gone unnoticed. Great.

“Keep talking about Danse, and I'll be good,” Hancock replied.

Scout laughed. “Power armor. Brotherhood. Outstanding, soldier.”

Hancock threw his pillow at them. Scout backed out of the doorway with their hands held up in surrender, still giggling.

“All right, all right,” they said. “But when you're ready, Pres says there's another settlement that's got a raider problem. Figured you might want in on some action.”

“Count me in, general.”

“Cool. See you in fifteen.”

Scout left, and Hancock immediately flopped back down onto the bed. “Fifteen” meant he could still lay there for ten more minutes before he had to get up and dressed. Fucking up some raiders would be good though. Needed a way to let off some steam. Hancock sighed into his pillow. Attractive, he could deal with. He'd seen plenty of pretty little smoothskins, fucked a good number of them too. Always some smoothie who wanted to know what fucking a ghoul was like. Someone like that, he could forget about.

But Scout _cared_. Before meeting them, it felt like he was the only one who gave a damn, like he was just being stupid, trying to help people out in this fucked up world. Scout was the goddamn general of the Minutemen though, and they never turned away anyone who needed help.

Or flinched when they saw him or asked him stupid questions about being a ghoul or looked down on him for using chems.

At this point, what he told Fahrenheit was the truth. He didn't have a crush. He was in goddamn love.

**Author's Note:**

> Everything else I've written for this series so far has been G or T rated, so let me know if you enjoyed this E rated drabble! (If seventeen pages can really count as a drabble ...)
> 
> Also, leave a comment if you want more and have suggestions!


End file.
